


Love and Other Adult Things

by waywardscenarios



Series: The Readerverse [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post Canon, Betaed, Bokuto Koutarou in Love, Bokutou Koutarou is a Precious Boy, Coming of Age, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humour, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, Light-Hearted, Minimal Drama, Minor Romantic Subplots, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slice of Life, Tags May Change, acquaintances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardscenarios/pseuds/waywardscenarios
Summary: There are many things in life that your parents don't teach you about the process of Adulthood.Taxes.Rent.People.Falling in Love.Bokuto has his fair share of failures. (Name) is just barely staying afloat.But Adulthood can't be bad for the rest of their lives, can it?ORAdulthood is confusing when you've spent your Adolescence winging it.





	1. On Patience as a Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the same universe as _A Thousand and One Nights_ and is the 3rd instalment of The Readerverse. This means there are some consistent canon elements that exist within the Universe that will connect them together, and some that are completely unique to the story. In this case, there are several key plot points that will be alluded to from the original ATAON story. With that being said, **you do not need prior knowledge of ATAON to understand everything going on in this story**. I will do my best to explain everything to new readers!   
> But you should _totally_ read it, because it's a fun ride.
> 
>  
> 
> This is dedicated to everyone who had their hearts broken by Bokuto's subplot. I'm sorry, I love you, enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be patient. No matter what.

_September, 2018_

“And that concludes the bronze medal match here at the FIVB Grand Championship, where Ryuujin Nippon have secured a third place finish. Truly, an outstanding effort. Coach Nagakaichi and his scouts certainly have an eye for talent, don’t they Narita-san?”

“More than that, Sakurai-san, it’s their ability to make the versatility and talents of each player shine on the court. Everyone is utilised fantastically, and there’s a precision to their plays unseen in previous years of the team’s history. No doubt, the current starting lineup proves a promising future as the country’s representatives in the sport.”

“Indeed, and now we have Iwaizumi Hajime, court side, with wing spiker from Ryuujin Nippon Bokuto Koutarou-”

“I know that reporter is pretty, Keijo, but we still have work to do.”

A hand pressed the spot between the young man’s shoulder blades, startling him from his trance and dragging his gaze to the presence of his boss standing by his side. A blush settled on his face, and he nodded vigorously in response before wordlessly moving to tend to one of the groups seated on the far side of the restaurant. As he slinked further away, his fringe shifted to cover his eyes.

“Your kids really know how to pick them, (Surname)-san!” The woman turned her head downwards to the left, meeting the eye of one of her patrons; a new regular with dark coppery hair and tired, sullen eyes. “Keijo’s the fourth one of yours that ogled that reporter whenever he’s on screen.” The businessman laughed, his voice muffled by the glass he lifted to his mouth.

She swooped down and picked up the empty plate between the pair before shrugging her shoulders. “I’m a little more concerned that you’re here often enough to know that, you  _ sure _ you’re saving money coming here every night?” She teased, gesturing to the glass still full of sake. His associate laughed at him, reaching over to poke at his friend who rolled his eyes at her quip.

With that she left, doing a lap of the rows of tables, gathering empty plates and reminding everyone that the kitchen had officially closed. There were roughly fifteen patrons left in the izakaya, all salarymen; all varying in ages, all soaking in the final hour before having to vacate the premise and into the cool autumn night.

(Name) rounded the lip of the bar, through the open floor kitchen and into the backroom. Tucked into the left corner from the doorway was the large sink, hidden behind the bodies of two of her kitchen hands. The pair – a man and a woman – were finishing up the last of the plates as she entered. Her shoes squeaked against the tiles, signalling her entrance.

The woman turned her head, stray strands of dark hair fluttering at the movement, before her smile dropped into a frown. “C’mon Boss, really?” Fumiko sighed, lifting her left hand and placing it under the pile before her right one joined in to cradle the free side. The man turned at the exasperated sentence, letting his own body deflate at the sight.

“You sent Minamoto and Orisaka home already, can’t we head off too?” Hideko wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, unperturbed by the droplets of water that fell down on to his shirt. “It’s practically  _ dead _ already – hell it was dead two hours ago!”

Fumiko turned back to the sink, submerging the plates into the water while Hideko maintained eye-contact, light eyes pleading for a break.

“Minamoto and Orisaka are the first people here prepping food in the morning, Hideko. Also they’re older than me and I’m still kind of scared of them.” Their boss retorted, pressing her shoulder up against the doorframe before ducking her head back through to glance at the main floor. Keijo stood behind the register connected to the bar, steadily dealing with the small line of people paying for their meals. “But if you two really want to head off then just finish this pile; Keijo and I can handle close for tonight.”

“Promise you won’t guilt us for ditching?” Fumiko asked over her shoulder.

“Since we’re closed tomorrow I’ll forget all about it, but don’t say I’ve never done anything for you two.”

Without another word, she turned back around and cut through the kitchen area once more, busying herself with more small talk amongst the steadily dwindling customers.

About ten minutes after leaving the back area, she caught the sight of Fumiko and Hideko slinking past the main exit towards the back door near the restrooms. They both sent their own passing glances that were something akin to being unapologetic before they fully disappeared around the corner, leaving Keijo, herself and the still murmuring crowd of customers.

“How’re your parents, (Name)-chan?” One of the older men, with hair greying around the roots and darkened weathered features, asked. “They’re taking a long deserved rest, I hope.”

The owner nodded, arms to her sides as she stopped at the edge of the table to talk. He was a familiar face even from her youth, and though his visits continued to dwindle the closer he reached retirement he still found some seed of curiosity to find himself within the walls of the izakaya right around close. The man sat alone, like he always did, and greeted her with a friendly gaze. “Dad’s hip’s gotten a lot better now that he’s back in Takayama, but mum misses the hustle of the city.” She supplied, “She tells herself that she’ll come back out here twice a week to save her from boredom but she never does.”

“They trust you too much, I hope.”

“I hope so as well,” the woman chuckled, “and how are your children?”

“All in their 30s and not married.” Was his reply, a look of disdain hidden behind the curve of a glass mug. He drained the remaining amber liquid in one fluid motion, revealing the true extent of his dissatisfaction. “I’d like for them to be well off, like you, at the very least… but both my daughters and son haven’t even shown an interest in starting a family. No partners, no dates, nothing.”

(Name) refrained herself from rolling her eyes. And from frowning at his assessment. “In this economy? Who has the time?”

The man released his own exasperated sigh, mumbling a sentence she was sure said “You sound just like them” before he turned his attention back to his empty dish. The wooden skewers were laid lengthways, dividing stray green peppers that had acted as garnish.

“Anything else you craving? I’m sure we have something spare in the back?”

The man waved his hand as a silent denial, before his gaze slowly flittered upwards towards the TV. “I’d be glad if any one of ’em end up with someone like that.”

(Name) followed the direction of his head and focused on the man on screen, adorned in the black, white, and red of the Japanese national uniform and a towel tucked around his neck. Broad, wide shoulders paired with amber eyes and a mop of hair dripping in sweat from the sheer exertion he just put his body through. The scrolling by-line filled in most of the gaps that she hadn’t given much attention to over the course of the evening; third place, MVP, anticipation for the next international tournament.

“You set your standards too high, friend. No one just  _ dates _ an Olympian.” She sassed sarcastically, patting his shoulder while he let out his own dejected chortle. “D’you want another top up or are you fine for the night?”

“No, no, I should probably head off before the last train… You’ll be open tomorrow, yes?”

“Closed on Wednesdays, just like we always are. But I expect you on Thursday, hopefully.”

“Not if work can help it.” The man slowly began to stand up, easing himself off the small stool with a hand braced against the frame of the table. He fumbled with the suitcase at his feet and lifted it, teetering carefully over to the register. (Name) lingered a few steps behind, arms outstretched just in case he stumbled over again.

As he fumbled with the cash from inside his briefcase, he sent her a tired smile and tapped the counter a couple times.

“Keep the change, mhm? That Keijo kid took good care of us tonight.. I’d put it in an envelope or something but I’m fresh out.” He grinned, watching as (Name) counted the payment. Her eyes widened, both at the unconventional tip and the kindness. “He’s a fast learner, consider keeping him around if the world doesn’t have bigger plans for him.”  

“You better be back Thursday then, cause Keijo’d wanna thank you.”

The business man shrugged dismissively, a silent maybe, before he took the receipt and walked carefully out of the door and through towards the main street.

Just as she went to move away from the register, another cluster of remaining patrons stepped in front of her, ready to leave for the night. And after them a few more followed suit, leaving (Name) to stand, smile, and small talk while Keijo did the final rounds to usher people out, and put dishes in the back.

By half-past eleven, (Name) closed the front doors and switched the neon OPEN sign off, letting her back rest against the wall next to it. She sighed, deep and slow, from the pit of her diaphragm before straightening herself out and retrieving the spray and cloth from underneath the bar. Slowly following the direction of the table’s layouts, she wiped the surfaces down, tucking in stray chairs as she passed and kicked things that needed to be swept out from where they hid.

Ten minutes later and Keijo re-emerged from the back, hands still slick with water and the broom and dustpan in his grasp. The younger male trailed behind her, removing the things she had revealed to him with a distant look in his eye.

“You okay Keijo?” She asked over her shoulder, working a stain out of one of the tables across the room. “You went a little space cadet on me in that last two hours.”

The brunet paused his movements, gaze lingering on a stray grain of rice that he was sweeping. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just had a lot of stuff on my mind.”

“Stuff like that Iwaizumi Hajime, huh?”

(Name) didn’t miss the way the boy’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

“Can’t blame you kid, he definitely seems your type. A little old, but hey, if that floats your boat-”

“I’m gonna come out to my parents in a few weeks… On my birthday...”

She let a small noise of surprise erupt from the back of her throat as she forced herself to stand up and face him. (Name) had known since the interview she conducted when hiring him, and she also knew that he had never been the one to want to disappoint his family. It was unsurprising that the oldest child carried the heaviest burdens. Especially with parents like Keijo’s.

“If you need to talk or a place to stay then you know that the second floor is always- ”

“I know…” He interjected, shallow smile plastered on to his features. “I’m just worried…”

“About?”

“What if they don’t get it?”

“Then you ease them into it and help them understand.”

“What if they  _ never _ get it?”

(Name) froze for a moment, unable to swallow any more air into her lungs. A moment passed, then two, and she found her breath along with a set of words she really didn’t want to say. “Then patience is key, isn’t it?” He turned to face her, being met with a small, comforting smile. “You can only say and do so much, so don’t hate yourself because it’s taking longer for them to settle into the truth than you originally anticipated.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it quickly, and (Name) watched as the gears began to turn in his head. In the silence, she finished off the last of the tables and circled back around the kitchen and bar to clean off the rag. When she looked back at him, he had already moved from his spot and emptied the dustpan, and thrown out the contents of the bin.

As (Name) counted the cash in the register and divided the float from the bank, Keijo had already returned from the staff room on the second floor, backpack against his front as he organised his belongings one last time. Instead of the blacks he wore for service, he donned a red shirt hidden under his ripped denim jacket, hair tousled from the quick change. He moved towards the door, head down and gaze staring directly into the void that held his belongings.

“You don’t need me to call a taxi or anything?”

He shook his head. “There are few more trains running before midnight. I think I’ll make them.” The statement was punctuated with the zip of the compartment before he let the straps rest over both his shoulders.

“Hey kiddo.” He turned quickly, still adjusting the strap of his backpack. “You forgot this.” She outstretched her hand, holding a crisp white envelope out to him.

He blinked owlishly. “I don’t get paid until next week.”

“Yeah, I know that.” She rolled her eyes and threw it to him, watching as he awkwardly caught it against his chest. “It’s a bonus.”

“A bonus?”

“Eh, well, more like a tip.”

“That’s an American thing, and we haven’t had any foreigners in here.”

“Doesn’t mean someone can’t be nice to you.” She hummed, leaning her elbows on the still damp surface. She watched with amusement as the confusion continued to flash across his face, attempting to decipher what she meant. “You did good tonight, Keijo, and someone found that commendable. You should savour it, that doesn’t happen a lot around here.”

Keijo looked flummoxed for another moment before he found his composure. “Which customer?”

“The old one.”

He blinked again. “They’re  _ all _ old-”

“I’ll point him out to you next time your on, yeah? Now head off, you’ll miss the last train to Shinjuku.”

A flash of realisation crossed the university student’s face before he nodded and ran out the door, yelling a mixture of thanks and goodbye. The sounds of heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement disappeared into nothing as he drew further and further away, leaving (Name) to her own devices.

Clicking the lights off on the first floor, (Name) followed the familiar path through the kitchen and back room towards the staircase. Hand braced against the wall she climbed, one step at a time, before she reached the landing. Continuing down the hall, the owner took slow and measured steps as she stood face to face with the last door on the right. It swung open when she jiggled the knob – she forgot to lock it that morning, probably – and she continued to trail further in, avoiding the darkened outlines of the lounge room furniture before she found her way to her bedroom.

Discarding her clothes as if they were old skin, she didn’t bother filling the tub and instead turned on the shower head and rinsed her body, too exhausted to do anything else. (Name) stood there until the water ran cold, and only then did she force herself out from under the stream of water and back into her bedroom, towelling herself off as she changed into her bedwear.

With her hair still damp and her fingers patting the ends dry with the coarse towel, (Name) took to staring out her bedroom window at the silhouettes that made up the Shimbashi district. Most formed uneven slits in the horizon line, narrowing in on sections of land that merely isolated another office building or izakaya bar. That’s all Shimbashi was; the district home to the salaryman of Japan, where not only businesses competed with each other, but the protectors of the nightlife as well.

It was fast paced and always brimming with life. But it was home.

And home, normally, was where the stress was.

(Name) had always worked in the family izakaya, and for long as she could remember her parents owned the small bar tucked just a few blocks away from the station terminal. Their family lived in the second floor above the restaurant – despite continuing talks that maybe one day they could have a home away from their business – and her parents never considered having another child. All of this was fine in her eyes, until she learnt what that all really meant.

It was less about  _ hoping _ they could, and more about life not  _ letting  _ them.

Circumstances eventually forced (Name) to inherit her parent’s pride and joy, and though the venture seemed lucrative in the beginning – instant stability, no need for a university degree, easy living – four years down the track proved her blinded assumptions incorrect in more ways than one.

Sure, the business had already been set into a slight decline when she  _ officially _ started working with her parents in her first year of high school. And sure, both her parents had briefed her with the trials and tribulations she would inevitably face in the lead up to the exchange of ownership. And yeah, there were other external reasons as to why the business had continued to nosedive like a plane missing its pilot – things like a low foot traffic turnout because of location, or the dilution of different suppliers, or general inflation costs over a few years.

But (Name) was  _ certain _ that things weren’t meant to be this rough from the get-go.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed them in the pale light that streamed in from the window. Bills, renovation plans, and on top of that the timesheets for the next pay cycle.

She groaned, pressing her face flush against the window and letting the cool surface calm her mind for a moment. She had to do those tonight, since tomorrow she’d be meeting with the designer she hired to help with the changes.

“Just a few more hours of work, (Name),” she murmured to herself, “take your own advice for once and don’t rush things you can’t control.”

The woman laughed at herself, confused at how she had sounded so  _ sure _ in giving advice to Keijo and yet couldn’t find the way to implement it into her own life. It was a strange thing to hear your own voice and not recognise it as yourself. Not because it held a different tonality or had dropped an octave or two, but because the syllables they formed weren’t at all real – they didn’t sound like anything that would willingly come from her mouth.

And yet despite the fact she could never really imagine herself to believe it, it was the most common lie she had told people who needed help.

Patience is a virtue, and you can’t force progress to happen. Regardless of what we believe things happen for a reason, and there is only so much control we as humans have in the natural progression of life and living.

She blamed her mother, and her abounding optimism about things. God forbid she be dejected  _ for once _ , and face the wrath of Number One Mother.

(Name) had lived her life on such rhetoric – and though not necessarily a bad thing, there were some pills that were particularly difficult to swallow.

But she remained, and persevered, because what would the woman who literally gave her life think about the way she was seemingly squandering hers?

The owner loitered by the window, listening to the distant sounds of the last metro-round trains cycle through their routes before the night-life faded and the world went quiet.

The towel, now almost dripping with water from her body and hair, was thrown into the dirty laundry hamper before the woman retrieved the shaking stack of work. Flicking on the bedside lamp, (Name) sat with her legs sprawled out in front of her, slowly spreading the papers across the expansive surface all while she reached for the pen tucked behind her pillow with her other hand.

It took a moment for her eyes to focus in on the small font before she began reading, oblivious to the way the night faded into morning light, and threatened to cycle back through to darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited Bokuto story, can you believe it?? And it only took me four months to start! Planning was a little rough, as was this last half of second year buuuut I'm free to write as much as I want for the next few months, let's see how much of this I can crank out! Like my other Reader Inserts, the protagonist will have a set backstory and personality, so if that's something you're not into them oops my bad?
> 
> Also, I'll be alternating updates with my Kuroo story **[Ultraviolet Cadmium Blues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16505318/chapters/38659070)** , just to get a handle on being consistent with two works at once. If all goes well then who knows how much content you'll have all year round!
> 
> I also just made a twitter ~~since i barely use my tumblr anymore lmao~~ so I can talk to y'all outside of the comments - because let's be real, it's kinda shitty that you can only yell at me through the comments and not any other social media platform. It'll also be the place where I'll update you for when certain chapters go live, tell you about any changes in scheduling, random stuff in my day, and maybe _just maybe_ you'll get previews of chapters or other WIPS outside of The Readerverse series. Not really sure yet, you'll have to drop by and see for yourself. Follow me [here](https://twitter.com/waywards_) if you have twitter and let me know what you think of UCB so far, or just say hi. I'll follow you back, it'll be a good time.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~until i forget to use it... hopefully not~~


	2. On Responsibility and Reservations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t badmouth: Assign responsibility, never blame. Say nothing of another you wouldn’t say to him.

_ September, 2018 _

They landed back in Japan two days ago.

If he were living with only the fledgling experiences he had in his head then the adrenaline of the tournament and bronze medal finish would still be coursing through his veins. He’d be at the gym pumping the iron in an attempt to make use of the excess energy, to demonstrate the sheer strength and determination of his personhood.

But he wasn’t living in the past; no matter how much he wanted to be, he physically could not.

So instead Bokuto resided himself to the confines of his room, practically disappearing off the face of the earth in order to avoid the adulations being sent to him by family and friends. The sentiment was well meant, but not what he needed.

Or, rather, not who he  _ wanted _ to hear it from.

It was sad – he knew that fact very well – to be  _ pining _ over someone who didn’t want him the same way, but he couldn’t help it. How could he help it? How do you bounce back from something like what he had with her?

It was like some drama, like one of the show that catered to wistful housewives shown during prime time on public networks. Friends to almost lovers who never really get closure since they’re both really fucked up inside.

The breakup (was it even a breakup? Friendships can breakup, right? That’s not a strange word choice, was it?) happened months ago now, and she seemed to be okay. A hat trick of an Oe, Naoki, and Akutagawa in less than one year - three of the most highly coveted writing awards that all writers and their editors, a steadily increasing image both nationally and in the international literary world, and no overt visible pain that he could infer from whenever he briefly saw her face during a news report, or saw a recent press image plaster on a newspaper. What was the point of mulling over their issues and disputes when life was still happily handing her success on a silver platter?

Bokuto scoffed and rolled over on to his other side, facing away from the wall and towards the door.

_ God _ he needed to get himself together.

How he had lasted so long – how his friends in general had put up with him for so long – was both sad and impressive beyond belief.

If he were honest, he had an inkling that maybe he was handling it worse than he thought he was. His mind did that to him sometimes – convinced him that he was perfectly fine when the reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Those days were recent, in the wake of having to rely on his skills without the assistance from people like Kuroo or Akaashi. But they didn’t last long, and the arguments he tried to convince himself of were also proven to be false when That Moment of Weakness came to him.

Exhibit A: everything that happened with her in Osaka.

Every kiss he stole from her, the endless need for her attention and affection, and ultimatum he gave himself to coax her into staying with him in the delusion he had so desperately created. Every choice and decision he made on that trip was weakness personified, but  _ god _ if he wasn’t weak for the writer then what was he?

Exhibit B: the aftermath of his birthday earlier that month.

Outside of official matches and press conferences, the FIVB had been something close to a nightmare for Bokuto. A test from the universe, or just a bad joke people were taking way too far. The Bologna leg of the Men’s Championship literally a week prior forced him in close quarters with Oikawa, and left him with the reminder that  _ he _ was the one she wanted, whether or not that fact was overtly clear to her in the current moment. And while his teammates were weary of his moods and condition off the court, they weren’t clear of the tension that existed between the two Chuo alumni. No one but he, Oikawa, and Kuroo understood the unsettling possibilities of the former two being left in a room for days on edge. Add in a free night with Coach Nagakaichi and the other trainers allowed them to celebrate his birthday before the competition continued into its final stretch and, well, it was a miracle no disasters had happened.

Except things did happen.

That was the thing about Bokuto and alcohol. Whenever he indulged, whether it were for recreation or leisure, he  _ always _ remembered what he did. No matter how drunk he got, no matter how hard he crashed – he always had a vague silhouette of what he did in his inebriation.

He remembered struggling back to his hotel room and immediately calling the writer when his shoes had been shucked off. He remembered clutching onto the balcony desperately as he called her over and over again, each time being met with the sound of her voice mail. He remembered the feeling of his heart breaking each and every time he heard her voice say the pre-recorded message.

_ ‘Hey, it’s me. I’m probably stuck in a meeting but your call might be the thing to save me. You know what to do.’ _

And then after the seventh attempt he snapped and finally took to leaving a message. And another. And another.

A floodgate had opened and the torrent of bullshit he had so  _ desperately _ tried to forget was unleashed onto her voicemail.

Bokuto didn’t know if she listened to them, or even  _ got _ them.

Because who else would intervene than Oikawa Tooru, standing there to catch him while he broke down, his phone laying there useless on the tiles of the balcony.

Of all the things he did that night, he didn’t remember much of what he explicitly said to the setter. What he did know was that Tooru had taken to avoiding him like the plague, to pretending that all was fine between them in the moments where the world was watching them. No judgement ever appeared on to his face, not like their previous emotion-fuelled encounters, and even if it did exist the setter was doing a stellar job and pretending there was no animosity between them.

There was, in all honesty, the option to go to her himself – to confront the source of his frustrations and recite everything he said in the voicemails directly to her dumb, perfect face.

But that would be counter-productive to the whole ‘recovery’ path Akaashi had him set on.

The whole  _ experience _ was counter-productive to the whole ‘recovery’ path if Bo where perfectly fucking honest with himself.

Akaashi wanted him to move on, wanted him to start thinking about things that meant more than a failed attempt at a relationship. Letting her be happy meant letting go of her, even if it ruined him. Her happiness meant trying to fix his own shit in order to be better – whether or not it would even get back to her. 

He hated that idea.

As if  _ that _ was going to help him.

He needed an outlet, needed something to distract him from the realities his mind kept feeding to him.

And those truths that swirled in his head were aggressive, were demonising to anyone and everyone because-

It was her fault.

That was the instinctual first reaction Kuroo and Akaashi had come to when they all found out about the situation.

And to an extent, there was a truth to it.

On the one hand, she could have been leading him on – feeding him a false sense of reciprocation in every moment they shared, every memory forged, every secret they divulged. She could have let him down easier, could have bailed on that trip to her home prefecture and saved him the pain of being rejected a second time. She could have had the final word – the  _ actual _ final word – and ended it when she had the chance. She could have been explicit with what she wanted, or what she expected, or what she didn’t want to experience at all.

But at the same time, he couldn’t blame her. He had every right to – he was the victim in the shitshow they were thrown into – but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He loved her,  _ so _ goddamn much, and wanted what was best for her. And cementing the blame onto her shoulders wasn’t what was best for her. She didn’t need to be explicit with what she wanted when she didn’t necessarily act as anything more to him than a friend. She relied on him, the same way he let all of his other friends do, and she provided him a support that wasn’t really dissimilar to what he’d been doing for her. You don’t choose who you love, or when you realise it. And she wasn’t required to love him back just because he wanted her to. That’s what dickheads did. And Bokuto was  _ sure _ that he was a dickhead.

He rolled again, now flat on his back while he stared up, aimlessly, at the blank ceiling. The shadows shifted in shape from the sunlight streaming through the blinds of his bedroom window.

It was more so Tooru’s fault, then. Because if he wasn’t an absolute  _ Fakekawa _ in the first place, then he would never have met the writer, nor would he have felt so strongly against whatever it was that he was trying to do with her – relationship, friendship, mutual existence. Maybe if he was honest from the get-go, or even held a more developed emotional vulnerability then he would’ve been able to understand the writer. If he didn’t try to take everything good from other people-

No. No it wasn’t Tooru’s fault either. He had agency in the outcome of events, yeah, but at the end of the day he didn’t influence the actions  _ she _ took. She was smart enough to know what she wanted or needed, more capable of making decisions that would promise prosperity when compared to either of the two guys she had befriend in such a short time. Oikawa Tooru had problems, no question, but those existed between the pair. He was never included in that equation. He was a bystander, merely watching things unfold between them, waiting for their own fallout. If she didn’t need him anymore then it was clear that no fallout happened – they were fine. There was no purpose for a selfless mediator in a resolved argument.

He sat up sluggishly, crossing his legs over each other. His palms place flat against the soft downy of his mattress he sighed, attempting to release whatever remaining frustration he had in his system.

Maybe that was his problem.

Being a mediator.

Looking too far into things.

Looking for problems to solve.

Wanting to be relied on.

Sure, that’s what the stipulations were when he and the woman entered their friendship, but maybe he had gone too far. Maybe his intuition was incorrect – it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe he had her pinned incorrectly from the start of whatever they were.

Maybe it was his fault.

Maybe he shouldn’t have stuck his nose where it didn’t belong; if he hadn’t taken pity on someone who probably didn’t want pity in the first place then none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t been so nice and done everything in his power to make sure she was okay, if he didn’t come to rely and grow comfortable in a presence other than Kuroo’s then maybe things could have been different. And maybe if he handled the fallout a little better – maybe if he had taken her words at something deeper than face value then life would’ve…

He scoffed. That was rich, considering that most of a lot of things could be considered his fault.

But he was the one with a shitty outcome – he didn’t get the chance to pull a straw and he  _ still _ ended up with a short one.

One of his hands went up to tug at the roots of his hair at the centre of his scalp.

She didn’t deserve the blame. Neither did Tooru if he were forced to speak honestly. Tooru didn’t deserve the blame. And he was certain that he himself didn’t either.

The monochrome-haired man growled in frustration, threading one hand through his hair before he flopped back down on to the bed,

But if the situation the three of them were in couldn’t be attributed to any one of them, then how the fuck was he meant to reconcile with  _ either _ of them?

“This is ridiculous.” He huffed to himself.

“What is? The moping, your use of ‘ridiculous’, or the fact your mum had to call me to make sure that you actually got her last twelve messages?”

Bokuto jolted upright, before groaning and flopping back down onto the pillows around him. A hand came up press against his left temple, pressing into the soft spot as a feeble attempt to stop the world from spinning.

“Seriously bro, I don’t even know how your mum has my number. Well...technically it was the Science Faculty office at Chuo, but still, she shouldn’t have to use that number to check in on her baby boy.”

Kuroo pressed himself up against the wall just inside of his roommate’s doorway, arms folded across his chest while he affixed his disapproving stare at him. Bokuto hazarded a glance to his left, letting his eyes focus on his best friend. Kuroo stood there, more well dressed than he should have been for simply lazing around the apartment; a white long sleeved button down with the sleeves cuffed up to his elbows, and slim fit dark pants to match.

“You’re finished early… No more Masters work for today?” He asked, clearing his throat in between words. Kuroo nodded.

“Y’know how it is. Some of us don’t have the luxury of disappearing for days on end after an international tournament.  _ I _ am an unfortunate soul with a schedule that’s trying to kill him.”

“More like an ambition trying to kill him.” The spiker grumbled. “You should get that checked, I dunno if it’s contagious but I don’t want it.”

The blocker shrugged. “I dunno man, that might do you some good?”

“What? Stress from a degree that I don’t want, need, and barely nab?”

“Something to live for outside of that writer chick.”

Bokuto tried to stop the sigh from escaping his lungs, but it passed through before he could react. It was deep and almost exaggerated, emptying part of his respiratory system to do it. “Please don’t lecture me today bro, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Kuroo raised his hands in defeat, pushing himself up off the wall ever so slightly and straightening himself out.

“I swear I’m not gonna do it. That’s for Akaashi… whenever the Pretty Boy is actually  _ free _ to do that.” He answered, voice teetering into a mumble around the latter half of the response. “All I’m here to tell you is that your mum called and she’s worried. Says that you looked good on TV for the games, but you looked real sad when we landed back home.” He shrugged. “Mother’s instinct, I wouldn’t know how that worked. But it’s making her call everyone who normally sees you to check in since your Emo Mode now hinders you from being a Proper Functioning Adult.”

Bo’s phone lay forgotten on the floor, connected to the wall socket with a fraying power cable. He ducked down to click the home button, watching as the screen lit up with notifications from texts he had still yet to answer. At the top of the screen was a banner displaying some of the worst words known to mankind.

**Mum. 10 missed calls.**

Underneath that were the most recent messages in their thread, all expressing concern from his lack of response.

“Fuck, when did she even have the time to call…” Bo grumbled, more to himself than for Kuroo’s benefit. “Sorry about her, Kuro,” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “And about me… I’m working on it, I swear.”

The hazel eyes of the taller male drifted away from the man on the bed, lingering on the items that cluttered his small bedside table before fluttering back to him. Bokuto followed the gaze and cursed inwardly when he saw what Kuroo had seen.

The copy of her latest book release; cover pristine from dirt, and the spine and edges of the bound book smooth despite how often he went back to read its contents. It was face down, a sign he had finished it for the umpteenth time since receiving it.

“It looks like you're working on something,” Kuroo ribbed, “but I don’t think that’s ‘it’.”

The blocker tapped a clenched fist against the doorframe as he turned to leave, but faltered mid-step and turned back around.

“I’m thinking about heading to Harajuku tomorrow,” he began, head turned over his right shoulder, “Kenma told me about this new cat café he got dragged to by Lev last week. Small, and all the cats are rescues. Apparently there’s this one cat that looks like me named Udon. I don’t trust him, and when I mentioned it to Lev he just laughed at me… So now I  _ have _ to see this noodle bastard. You want in?”

It wasn’t the first offer of a distraction Kuroo had given him over the course of his healing. There had been plenty of outings  _ far _ away from Mejirodai and Bunkyo that were offered – as if the farther he went the more likely he would be able to leave the thoughts of her behind.

Kuroo meant well. He always did.

“I’ll think about it.” He replied, lips slowly curving up at the corners at the thought of a Kuroo-like cat. “I’m imaging this little guy has a fringe, or has a really stupid meow.”

“You laugh with a sore throat  _ one time- _ ”

“You literally sound like a strangled turkey whenever you laugh bro, just embrace the fear you give to little kids that hear you.”

Turning his back to face the front, Kuroo flipped him off over his head, turning to the left to change out of his clothes.

The footsteps retreated before the came back faster than before. One of the blockers hands cuffed itself around the door, supporting his body while he poked his head back into view.

“Also, I’m heading to the gym for weight training. Did you want in? You’re looking a little flabby.”

A surge of red annoyance flashed through his veins, making Bo straighten his back out and point a finger accusingly at him.

“ _ You’re _ the flabby one, you limp noodle looking jerk! Looking like broke ass macaroni, I’ll have you know I could fucking  _ bench _ you without breaking a sweat!”

“Wanna bet Marshmallow Boy?” Kuroo waggled his eyebrows. “Loser buys dinner.”

“You’re gonna eat those words, Kuro!” Bo declared, reaching behind him with his free hand to fling a pillow at the blocker.

The latter moved instantly, amused snorts of laughter following him down the hall as he went to change into his gym wear.

Bo gritted his teeth at the provocation, but slowly released the tension that continued to knit itself into his joints.

Kuroo meant well, he knew that.

And for once in his life, Bokuto was thankful for having someone as  _ annoying _ as Kuroo. But all that thanks was not going to save him from getting absolutely  _ annihilated _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroo's a good friend and bo needs some good vibes from other people in his life. I might not have explained some of the events from ATAON as clearly as I should have, but there will be follow up on all of this very, very soon I promise!
> 
> also I had to keep going back and rereading sections of ATAON as reference for this chapter...and I assume for every other story I write... which is crazy to think about ngl  
>  
> 
> thannks for the all the comments and kudos so far! i honestly can't wait to show all y'all everything on Bokuto's side of the Readerverse ^^


	3. On Facts Versus Presumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never assume the motives of others are, to them, less noble than yours are to you.

_October, 2018_

In his teenage years, Bokuto made an effort to stay away from Shimbashi.

There wasn’t necessarily anything bad about the district in particular, rather it was the associated image it had with their culture. Shimbashi was a business district, one that reminded him of a future he did not want to commit to.

Grunt work; a desk job where he had to wear a stuffy suit and work crippling hours, one that left him with little time to life’s great pleasures and freedoms.

It was a deep subconscious fear that he had from high school, and was one he refused to voice to people, regardless of how close they were. Bokuto wasn’t even sure if  _ Kuroo _ knew about how disturbed he was by the concept of the salaryman; of someone who willingly clocked in and out at the same times every day, and withered behind the confines of their desks in order to make a living that didn’t make them  _ happy _ .

And so he avoided it, like the plague, because he didn’t need that dark cloud of a reminder that was his worst fear.

But there were times his strength wavered, and when it did it was in the presence of this now ex-friend (was that the correct term to use? Fuck, it’s been like six months what was he doing with his life?). It was then and only then that the cloud would become irrelevant, and instead he would be caught up in the writer’s desperate attempts to kill time and act  _ normal _ .

(“Being famous is pretty rough, isn’t it?” Bo laughed one dark and windy evening, huddled next to the woman while they lazed around her apartment in the aftermath of one of their late night dinners. She nodded almost aimlessly at his comment, but the look of discomfort at the reality of the statement was enough to confirm his suspicions.)

The answer they settled on was often food.

Because food was the only good way to forget everything .

Bokuto never understood her logic, but it seemed to work for her. Who’s to say it wouldn’t work for him?

That was why he had originally left his apartment, but the question still remained of _why_ _Shimbashi_?

Bokuto tucked his hands into his pockets, weaving his way through the nearly empty streets of the main thoroughfare as he attempted to look inconspicuous in a sea of suit-clad people. A clear fish out of water in his mustard yellow hoodie and dark blue jeans, he was surprised that he hadn’t been getting more strange looks.

Politeness culture, Bo assumed, mentally shrugging his shoulders as he continued to press forward.

He and the writer had only gone into Shimbashi once before; it was a Sunday afternoon not long after they had gone to view the moss in Chichibu earlier that spring. It was her turn to choose, and though it was only the beginning of their routine, Bokuto had come to instinctively trust the decisions the woman made when it came to affordable, quiet places to eat and unwind.

Even if they  _ were _ located in the dead centre of the infamous Salaryman District of Tokyo.

That izakaya, he recalled her saying, was a family owned business run by people who were also of mixed blood like herself, and was a quaint reminder that perhaps she wasn’t alone in the big wide world like she had always perceived. She told him one of her colleagues had introduced her under the guise that maybe she needed more foreigner friends – or friends in  _ general _ for that matter.

(The writer made a point of informing Bokuto that the sentiment was accepted, but the thought itself was wrong. “That guy was a presumptuous dickhead,” she said, “but you can’t just  _ say  _ that to people, especially when they just lost to you for the Bookseller’s Prize.”

Perhaps that should have been a sign that Bo was doomed from the start. )

Though it wasn’t particularly busy when he went the first time, there was no guarantee it would provide the exact same experience for the spiker – especially considering it was the middle of the work week. And as Bokuto approached the storefront he furrowed his brows together, taking in the sight of the slightly packed dining floor, and the rows of business men and women sitting in groups with various plates and bowls of half eaten food strewn throughout the lengths of different tables.

A part of him tried to stop his feet from moving, tried to get him to abort the mission and just hole himself back up in his room to avoid the lingering eyes of faceless strangers.

But he thought against it and pushed forward.

Not for his own benefit, but for his mother’s. After finally calling her back, she told him to come home and visit for dinner after work. Her workplace, and their family home respectively, was on the opposite side of Shimbashi – and Bokuto resolved that he needed to go see her, even if that meant wasting time in the district he absolutely hated in order to surprise her with an escort home that evening.

As he approached the main door, he was met with the boisterous laughter of different people, and the smell of spice permeating in the air. There were a few stray spots he could probably squeeze in, but from the sheer amount of people, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t be recognised.

(Yes, the last time he and the writer were there they were fine. Yes, all the other times they had been out wandering together were fine. That didn’t mean that their good fortune – or his dumb luck – would be so quick to last now that circumstances had changed.)

With both feet firmly planted on the interior, Bo waited to be seated, keeping his eyes on the flurrying waiters that weaved through the dining area and then back around to the open kitchen with the dirty plates.

“Table for 1 sir?”

Bokuto’s head snapped back to the left, where one of the waitresses stood just behind the register. He nodded, wordlessly, and watched as the woman grinned back at him.

“There’s a spot just here at the bar if you’d like? Or one at the kitchen. Take your pick and I’ll be with you when you’re ready to order.”

And then she was gone, speed walking around the corner where the bar and the kitchen met towards the service counter, where she proceeded to scoop up the two readied plates of beef skewers and head towards one of the booths on the far end of the restaurant.

With a soft sigh he shuffled towards the bar, mumbling an apology as he squeezed in between the two other men, who themselves were huddled over orders and had hands clenched around somewhat cloudy glasses of sake.

Bo grabbed at the small menu that was trapped between two of the condiment holders, eyes flicking up and down the small laminated item in his grasp. He knew what he wanted – most people he knew had a standard order of something whenever they went into an izakaya – so his mulling over the printed symbols and characters acted as less of a contemplative and more of a time killer.

Another five minutes passed before the waitress who initially seated him returned to his vision, standing on the opposite side of the counter, pen poised towards the small notebook she held in her non-dominant hand. “Seen anything you like, Stranger?”

“One karaage, and two serves of salty cabbage.” He replied, sliding the menu back to where he found it. She scribbled the order down, eyes trained on the paper, which eased what little nerve Bo had left.

“Anything to drink?”

“A highball; any flavour’ll do.”

She let out a low whistle while she tucked the pen back into her apron pocket. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” Before he could answer, the woman laughed and waved her hand over her shoulder as she turned around to the mixed wall of shelves and fridges. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! We’ve only got some of the sweeter types, is that alright?”

Bokuto exhaled a shaky laugh of his own and nodded. “That’s perfect.”

The waitress spun back around with the silver can and a coaster, placing it down in front of him with a wordless smile before she tore the top page of the notepad off from its bindings. And then she was gone, ducking out the back but not before she tacked the page on the string that ran over the top of the stoves. For a moment Bo’s eyes lingered, but then his gaze returned to the front, on to the familiar design of the highball can. His right hand cracked the tab open and in one fluid movement the rim of the can was at his lips, spilling amber liquid into his awaiting mouth. He hadn’t any alcohol to drink since that night in Bologna, and the sudden familiar sensation of mild bubble against his lips and tongue were enough to force his mind back to that night.

Back to Osaka and their kiss under the Dontonburi Bridge.

Back to their late night talks in the confines of her apartment.

Back to the night he held her close in the Spring air, where nothing bothered her and he felt like there was something close to a  _ home _ while being near her.

It took all of his strength to not slam the can back down onto the countertop, his fingers denting the aluminium ever so slightly from the strength of his restraint.

The man to his left looked at him almost sympathetically, but kept his gaze downcast at the bare yakitori skewers he had consumed.

The cabbage servings arrived first, placed in front of him alongside a gleaming pair of stainless steel chopsticks and a napkin. She faltered for moment, taken aback by the sound of his mumbled thanks.

“Are you sure you’re alright with what you ordered?” She inquired, words clipped with concern. “A guy like you looks like he can put away more than two bowls of cabbage.”

His lips twitched into a smile. It was true – he could probably eat circles around everyone in the izakaya and still have room for more. But these days his appetite waned more than he would have liked, and if he was going to see his mother later that evening then it was best he ate as if nothing was wrong when they were together.

“I’ve got other places to be tonight,” he supplied, still training his gaze on his beverage, “better to be on the hungrier side.”

The waitress hummed. “Parents?”

He couldn’t help the expression of disbelief that passed over his features. “How’d you figure?”

“Cause that’s exactly what I do when my parents come into town.” She jested, her own light laughter reaching his ears at the same time his own did.

And then he looked up, his own golden eyes meeting the employee’s own – their colour a warm (e/c) that he could only describe as welcoming. Perhaps that was why she was working the front of the restaurant – the invitation hidden behind her eyes was enough to compel him to order a bit more than he originally wanted.

Bo coughed and shook his head. “I’m fine, really. Just need something small to hold me over.”

The waitress shrugged her shoulders and let her knuckles rap against the countertop a few times. “Don’t hesitate to call for more then, and that includes drinks.”

Before she turned away, she reached over to pick up the emptied plate from the man sitting to his right, in tandem with the way he slowly teetered onto his feet, hands pressed up against the countertop. The woman craned her neck and jutted her chin out in the direction of the register to someone standing behind them both, before she ducked into the back area with the dirtied dish.

Bokuto sighed and slumped a little more, arranging the chopsticks into his right hand as he began to pick at the first dish of cabbage. He stayed quiet as he ate, fishing his phone from his pocket so he could scroll through  _ something _ in order to keep his brain off of the negative thoughts he had been stuck having. There wasn’t much of anything to be kept up to date on – not when it was  _ his _ life that people were more interested in. And even then, the people who weren’t all too bothered with every development of his life were already in the feedback loop of Bokuto’s current social life, and that surprisingly didn’t require much stalking to be aware of.

Somewhere in between finishing the first cabbage dish and reaching the midpoint of the second, his karaage arrived with another complementary side dish; “On the house,” was what the new waiter told him, “since the boss really does want you to eat more.”

The kid gestured to the waitress that had taken to serving him in the beginning, who was now caught up in laughing with other patrons who appeared to be far too familiar with the inner-workings of the izakaya.

And her behaviour suddenly began making sense. If she were the owner, or at the very least the manager in charge of that shift, then the hospitality was a means of placating him from his troubles. Bo didn’t recognise her as the owner from their last visit, perhaps she hadn’t been working, or maybe he was too focused on the writer he was with.

It was weird… Bo was sure that he would have remembered her face had he seen her.

Brief snippets of sentences rang out over the sounds of the izakaya, catching his attention and willing him to turn his head.

But before he could fully absorb the conversation she was having not too far away, his attention was diverted to the small television screen that was mounted on a metal bracket on the ceiling – just above where the bend of the two counters were. His heart thumped dully at the image on the screen, frowning as he read the scrolling text accompanying the faint sounds of the news anchor’s announcements.

He had never been one for the fine arts and culture – not even when they were friends – but there was a part of him that hated how he didn’t know her schedule off by heart, or at least knew of the possibilities and opportunities she had at her disposal. Where March was the month for the Tokyo Literary Festival, October’s equivalent was that of the Japanese Writer’s Festival. She mentioned it once to him in passing, but it was Akaashi that told him more than he ever needed to know about the event. Bo was dragged along once or twice, back even before he was any the wiser about the world of literature in the way he was now.

The writer’s voice rung out from the worn out speakers, and though it was grainy from the television’s quality Bo could still hear the gives and tells of fatigue and exhaustion in her voice.

Though she was thanking people for support, and delving into the answers to questions concerning her most recent release, her voice wavered at the end of certain words, and some of the syllables slurred themselves while she tried to appear as the eccentric, charismatic writer Japan saw her as. The words faded out, immediately being replaced once more by the news anchor.

The rest of the footage that played was of her main panel from the event, and all of it not only showed off her popularity and acclaim, but how beautiful she looked under a shitty halo of yellow-orange tinted lightbulbs.

As if he needed the reminder-

Bokuto refrained from growling, and instead focused on the food before him.

‘Just one day…’ He thought to himself bitterly, stabbing a slice of crumbed chicken with his chopsticks, ‘I just one day without a reminder of her.’

His brain hated him – that was the only logical explanation for all the steps back he was taking.

Lips closing around the karaage, Bokuto bit and pulled, using the meat as a way to feign his frown as thorough chewing.

He had to sort this out soon. He needed to get his shit in check.

And for once, he was hoping his mother would ask him about girl troubles instead of volleyball.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere between the lunch and dinner rushes, (Name) retreated to her office upstairs to call the architect she was liaising with for the renovations to the izakaya. And though she had talked herself into returning to the main floor, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

The estimate for the total reconstruction was much more than she or her parents had ever envisioned, and the stress of trying to make those ends meet brought whatever ease lingered inside her body.

So she didn’t return to the restaurant floor – only briefly going back down to ask that her head chef Orisaka look after things while she did her best to crunch numbers and plan for the future. He didn’t look too concerned for her request, nor did he look annoyed by the extra work he was no required to do.

Instead Orisaka smiled and patted her shoulder comfortingly, wordlessly, before he started delegating and prepping orders simultaneously.

(Name) had never been gladder at the fact he decided to stick around – whether it was for her personal benefit, his own moral conscious, or the guilt caused by her parents.

The woman slumped in her chair, one arm holding up her head while her other hand trailed down the lengths of different sheets of paper, all dictating completely different numbers and totals.

Payroll, thankfully, didn’t have to be finalised until the 20 th , nor distributed until the 25 th , which meant that the bulk of the workload she was still required to do was grouped under general housekeeping things: different delivery quantities, changing prices to certain goods and stock, the maintenance fee of both the restaurant and the tiny apartment above it.

And then, littered amongst that mess of daily expenditure, laid the literal monetary foundations that were required to go through with the renovations.

The business had money saved up, sure, her parents had been preparing for the big changes since she was in her second year of middle school, but none of them had necessarily taken into account simple things like inflation for the cost of living, changes to both worker compensation and minimum wage, or even the bare minimum financial strain that would take place for closing down for anything longer than a  _ month _ .

Yes, her parents prepared her as best they could for owning the business – but they never warned her about the mental hoops and jumps she would have to make in order to use the advice and preparation they had actually given to her.

(Name) touched the screen of her laptop, watching it unlock and display her own personal finances and savings she had been accumulating since she official entered the payroll in her teens. The number was already dwindling too far below what she was comfortable with seeing.

Most of the earnings from the restaurant sales were already being funnelled into maintenance and deliveries, and whatever was left was going straight to her staff. She was barely taking anything from what was left over, and if she  _ did _ then it didn’t stay settled in her savings or superannuation for very long.

She was already planning on using a good 60% of what personal funds she had for the renovations, and admittedly she was currently dipping into them in order to make sure everyone was getting paid just as comfortably as when her parents were in charge – just like they were promised.

Just like  _ she _ promised.

And then there was the thought of compensating everyone employed under her with funds for the closure of the restaurant. God only knew where the fuck she was meant to get  _ that _ money from.

A knock on her office door startled her awake, and she coughed out a “Come in” to the individual waiting on the other side.

Orisaka poked his head in, warm smile accentuating the crows feet that were curling around the corners of his eyes.

“It’s 9pm, (Name)-chan, so I’m going to head off now. Minamoto is willing to stay back a little longer if you’re still busy with…” His eyes flicked towards her desk before they darted back up to her own. “Finances.”

(Name) frowned, more to herself than to her head chef, and nodded, stretching out her neck and rolling her shoulders in small circles to work up some type of circulation in the stiff limbs.

“I’m okay to come out… I can just, do this later tonight.”

The middle-aged man narrowed his eyes slightly. “Is everything okay? I know that things have started to look a little-”

“We’ve fine and dandy! Nothing to worry about, not at all!” (Name) interjected, pushing herself out of the seat while her hands continued to resort all of the files she had strewn across the lacquered surface. “Just needed to revise the possibilities of renovations-”

“Still on for early next year?”

The owner cringed. “Maybe  _ late _ next year… Just have to make sure we’re in a good position.”

That seemed to satiate the older man as he nodded and held the door open wide enough to allow her to walk out. As she passed she took on the weight of the door, using her key to quickly lock it from the outside before pair continued back down the hall towards the staircase.

“Y’know (Name),” Orisaka began, slowing his steps as he approached the staff room, “there is nothing wrong with cutting back on unnecessary funds in order to make sure these plans go through… And I think all of us would be understanding if there are cuts to pay, even just for a few months in order to make sure-”

“I don’t want to do that, Orisaka-san.” She declared, hardening her features. “I don’t want to have to make it harder for all of you to live just so that this can be a little more comfortable for all of us… I just, need to be smarter with my money.”

“The business money, or your own personal funds?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she smiled and turned her head in a polite bob to the older man. “Safe travels home, Orisaka-san. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

And then she was gone, tackling the steps two at a time while she re-tightened the straps of her apron around the waist.

Orisaka lingered for a second before shaking his head, entering the staff room to retrieve the rest of his belongings with a look of concern gracing his usually stoic features.

 

* * *

 

It was (Name) and Keijo left on close once again, a similar story spun by Hideko and Fumiko in order to leave once the main rush was immediately over. They had parroted on about fatigue, and said they’re perfectly content with getting docked an hour of pay for the next cycle.

(Name) was sure that this was their way of letting her know that they  _ all _ knew of money problems their owner may or may not have been having at the current moment.

Keijo didn’t say much, just like most evenings they worked together. Instead, she took to filling the silence, prompting him to understand that she was happy to be the older sister he never had – or a guiding voice that didn’t expect too much of him because of who he was throughout the earlier parts of his life.

“How was the coming out talk?” She asked. She stood behind the register, counting the notes and coins that were in the cash drawer while the younger man continued to wipe down tables.

“I, uh, I used the bonus from that night to take the family out somewhere nice.” He explained, coughing out the dryness in his throat. “And then when I went home and my siblings went to bed, I told my parents.”

“What’d they say?” The owner cast a concerned look at her youngest employee, taking in the slight stiffness of his body as he continued to wipe large circles on the wooden table tops.

“They didn’t say much…” He admitted. “Just kind of ignored it… And they haven’t brought it up again since that night, so I can’t be sure that they actually  _ heard _ me.”

“Give them time, let them come to terms with it. In the meantime, don’t be afraid to bring your future boyfriends or one-night stands here and use the staff room if you really need to. I am 100% supportive of you being an absolute hoe if necessary-”

“(Surname)-san!”

“I’m just saying! You never know when Iwaizumi Hajime is clubbing in Tokyo-”

“There’s no way he’s gay-”

“Just think about it, yeah?” She laughed, tucking the purple-green notes back into the till. “Don’t be afraid to talk to me, or anyone else here, if you need help with anything. You’re family, Keijo, don’t forget that.”

He nodded, turning his head slightly and smiling thankfully over his shoulder before continuing his duties for the end of day.

(Name) turned back to the till, finishing off the cash count and removing the excess from the float. As she reorganised the remaining amount in the drawer, she couldn’t help but frown.

That was  _ far _ too much money for her to have taken out for a Monday.

Nimble fingers did another count, and another, and another; each time making sure she wasn’t counting doubles or adding extra zeros in places where they didn’t belong.

And she was still coming up with the same, overbearing number as she had the first time through.

With her tongue trapped between her teeth, she pulled out the small pile of receipts and the calculator from underneath the bar and began adding up the total payments from open to close.

Five minutes passed, and after restarting a few times due fat finger errors, she discovered that there was an extra ¥3500 in the register.

She dropped her hands onto the counter.

“Keijo?”

“Yeah?”

“We have extra money in the register… Do you know if you accidentally overcharged someone? Or if someone miscounted a customer’s payment?”

She spun around fully, watching as Keijo’s head peaked out from around the corner of the backroom, his hands wiping down one of the recently washed dishes that the Flake Duo left for them. He shook his head, brow furrowing for a moment, before the realisation crossed his face.

“It’s not an error… That one guy you served before you disappeared upstairs said I could keep the change…”

“How much was ‘change’?”

“About ¥3500…” He replied, voice trailing off softly. “Should I not have taken it in? He insisted, and when I tried to give it back he said he didn’t need it and then left before I could stop him… Did I fuck up, (Surname)-san?”

The woman shook her head profusely, waving the hand that wasn’t holding the till drawer open at him at a vigorous pace.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Keijo, don’t worry. It’s just… Most people we serve don’t have that kind of money to flaunt, let alone give away… Especially these days.” She mumbled the last part, scratching the back of her neck as she tried to recount all the people that had passed through the doors before she left the main floor. “Did you get a name? Did he  _ leave _ a name?”

He shook his head, shaggy brown hair flopping  in front of his eyes. “No… Sorry… I should have-”

“It’s fine, Keijo. I’ll just… Just keep an eye out for him over the next couple of shifts and point him out to me when you can. And if you can help it try not to let him leave his change.” She curled a smile across her features. “And-”

“I think you should keep the money, (Surname)-san.”

Keijo averted his gaze quickly, hands still working the dishrag over the surface of the white porcelain.

“Orisaka mentioned earlier in the quiet period before dinner that you were struggling to keep yourself okay while looking after all of us.” He spat out quickly, eyes widening as the words left his mouth. “I don’t mind not having a bonus, I can live without it – especially cause I live at home. But I don’t want you to go belly-up because you think you need to look after us all.”

(Name) bit the inside of her cheek, training a stoic expression onto her face as the revelation slapped her silly. She was going to have  _ words _ with Orisaka tomorrow when he and Minamoto came to do prep.

She made a mental note to somehow keep the mental courage coursing through her veins.

“I appreciate the concern Keijo but-”

“We’re family, right?” He interrupted, head snapping up with a newfound determination in his eyes. The challenge was there, unspoken in the way he used her own words against her. “And family make sure that they’re okay.”

_ He’s got me there _ .

(Name) heaved a heavy sigh from her lungs, slumping against the back of the bar while she let the exhaustion finally appear on her face. Keijo flushed a little, the reality of his outburst immediately starting to settle on his shoulders as his boss admitted defeat.

“I’ll take it. But the next one I’m dividing between all of you, and you can’t stop me.”

For the first time in a few weeks, Keijo grinned almost manically at her.

“I guess money will mysteriously keep appearing in the cash register until you take the hint from all of us, huh?”

The older woman rolled her eyes and pointed back into the back room. “Go finish up, kid, before I change my mind about you bringing booty calls back here after close.”

He raised his hands in defeat, slipping back around the wall with a series of short laughs. (Name) shook her head and divided the overcharged amount from the rest of the money that was to be banked. With the pile of bills, she tapped them onto the counter a few times before laying both hands flat against the surface once more.

A series of nameless faces past through her mind’s eye as she lingered on the possibilities. There were a few, but she would have remembered if they passed through that morning, especially the ones with money like that to spare. (Name) drew a blank –  several blanks – before she officially gave up for the night.

She was going to have to figure out which customer it was.

And hopefully she would do it before he convinced the rest of her employees to take pity on their poor, misguided employer.


	4. On Cans and Cannots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expand your sense of the possible.

_ October, 2018 _

One of the first things she was taught was that relationships were everything. And that never meant romantic or familial – her parents always emphasised business; most notably the relationship between the owner and the consumer.

That was, of course, the crux of staying afloat in a time of increasing desire for good service and a sense of belonging.

“Humans are social creatures,” her mother reminded her often of that fact, “and since we work in customer service and hospitality that idea is even more important to us if we wish to continue operating here in Shimbashi.”

So (Name) took it in stride – since that’s what was expected of her if she were to take over the restaurant as planned.

From the moment her father agreed to hire her on as an official member of the waitstaff, (Name) sought to make an effort in being as hospitable as possible; she made sure she knew the customer’s names and occupations, inquired about family and personal life, even took careful notice in changes in appearance or order combinations. It was not an easy task – especially when she had a poor memory to begin with – but it only took three months for the conscious actions to become an actual habit.

The importance of the intimate customer knowledge only increased when the transition of full ownership took place. Now she didn’t have her mother’s tact or her father’s charisma to save her if she forgot a person’s name, or mixed up different regulars for each other.

(It happened a few times in the four years she had been the official owner; the victims always received a discount on their order, or a free meal the next time they came in to eat. Those moments were  _ never _ forgotten by anyone.)

And so with this in mind, it would not be considered strange for the owner to know that the man who huddled himself by the bar was the exact opposite of a regular.

An entirely new face, a foreigner in the loosest senses – a new individual who had a penchant for paying much more than a pretty penny for the services he received.

(Name) knew it was him. After his fourth visit and the third hefty tip (a formalised one that time around, wrapped in a crisp white envelope and slipped into Keijo’s frustrated grasp), the owner knew she had him pegged as the Rich Stranger. The look on Keijo’s face as he tried to play off the encounter told her everything she needed to know.

The only other fact worth noting to her was that he always stayed till close, as if he had nowhere else to go, had nothing else he wanted or desired.

That behaviour was concerning, and against whatever better judgement she may have, she decided to apply her values of Good Business Ownership to good use and try and gain answer in the only way she knew how.

Alcohol.

Keijo got stuck closing with her again, and looked from his boss to the man, and back again. His gaze swept the room again – a subtly grand gesture that the Strange Tip-Leaving Man was the only person left in the whole restaurant, and was most certainly  _ not _ on the izakaya’s payroll. Again, from his expression, (Name) knew that Keijo was aware she was up to something.

She shrugged her shoulders in response, jutting her head towards the door and then pointing back at the young man. Keijo scrunched the space between his brows together.

“You go,” she mouth, “I’ll handle this guy.”

Keijo did nothing to hide his disapproval of the request. Yes, this was technically her business and establishment, but there was still a very clear security issue in leaving her  _ alone _ with the stranger no one actually had a handle on. There were a plethora of possibilities and Keijo couldn’t guarantee that a  _ good _ one would arise from obliging.

He opened his mouth to argue, but faltered under her harrowing gaze. (Name) barely registered the sound of his defeat sigh before the teen disappeared into the back to gather the rest of his belongings.

The stranger was seated at the bar, head down and almost parallel with the empty beer glass resting on one of the wooden coasters. She stood at the opposite end of the dining area that he had held his back to, shuffling the rest of the furniture back to their original positions.

He didn’t stir at the sounds of metal sliding and catching against the floorboards, nor did he jolt at the contrast of steps that filled the air: (Name)’s relaxed gait opposed to the nervous, fidgety trot of Keijo.

(Name) tucked herself around the other side of the counter top, rummaging through the fridges mounted on the wall. Her peripheral caught Keijo flicking off the neon sign as he ducked out of the front door for the remainder of the evening.

Hands poised around two cans, the owner removed them from stock and placed one on to the counter, right into the man’s view.

His head snapped upright at the bend of his neck, forcing his golden eyes to face the mirth nestled deep within her own.

“Technically, we closed about twenty minutes ago.”

The customer’s lips pulled down at the corners into a confused frown.

“Then why’re you giving me another drink?”

“Because I’m pretty decent in knowing when something needs to talk, and what’ll make ‘em.” Her grin stretched a little wider. “That, and I need to close the gap between your lavish tips and the actual things you’re paying for.”

The frown morphed into a grimace for a hot second. “You figured out it was me?”

“I’m bad at math, but two plus two still equals four.”

“Fair.” His right hand twitched as it moved to pull back the tab on the can, his left encompassed the side and poured the contents into the room-temperature glass.

“So, do I get a name before I unlock your Tragic Backstory, or do I get it after, where I can rename you something wildly appropriate like I used to do with my Pokémon?”

His shoulders lifted. “M’Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou. You can call me Bo f’ya really wanted to.”

“Bo it is. (Surname) (Name) – most people just use my first name – and I own this little shit shack.” She didn’t bother extending her hand out to offer a shake. Instead she cracked open her own beer and leant up against the counter, hip jutting into the corner. “So what’s the story?”

A minute of nothing – a pregnant and hesitant silence – filled the air before Bo replied.

“Where do I even start?”

(Name) didn’t say anything, merely waited for him to press forward. There was a fine line between polite prying and invasive investigation that often got toed in her line of work. Most situations were a waltz of both, without the other person ever really noticing the strategic dance they were forced to play out.

(Hence, alcohol.)

“Most of my life’s pretty decent,” he began, “I guess m’just dealing with a really rough patch of fallout.”

“From?”

“Bad choices. Half-baked plans and decisions that I really shoulda known would lead to this.”

Her silent, encouraging nod coupled with the undertones of indifference in her posture urged him to continue on.

“I dunno, it’s just one of those years that decides to kick you when you’re already down… I guess I’m tryna move on from all this bullshit but – but my  _ brain _ doesn’t wanna give it all up.”

“You do know that  _ you  _ are, in fact, your brain.”

“That’s what hurts the most about it. That there will always be some part of me that won’t let this go – won’t let  _ her _ go.”

He dropped his head down into the cradle of his bent elbow laying flat on the counter.

“What if I’m not meant for love?”

The owner refrained from snorting liquor from her nose. She should’ve seen this one coming.

There was  _ always _ someone nursing a broken heart.

“It must have been a really rough break up if it’s making you forget the existence of every other type of love to ever exist ever, and to dump your savings into this tiny little place.”

“That’s the actual fucked up bit.” Bokuto shook his head, cheek pressed right up against the fabric. “I didn’t break up with her. I wasn’t even  _ with _ her like that to begin with! I just-”

His fingers tugged at the roots of his hair.

“Guess I just thought she was going through the same motions of falling in love with me while I was taken over by her everything.”

(Name) hummed around the rim of the can. “So she rejected you?”

Bo jerked his head. “Kinda. She’s in love with another guy – one of my best friends, my teammate – but they… I don’t think it-”

His right hand moved to the back of his neck, ruffling the hair there as the frustration continued to permeate in the air.

“It’s really confusing.” He was talking to the air by this point, grasping at thoughts and sentence fragments he obviously hadn’t vocalised to other people in his life. “He says he doesn’t have feelings for her, and she doesn’t touch her feelings for anyone unless they kiss her under a fucking bridge. But whaddya know, this dude whose whole first impression almost ruined her longest friendship gets an entire book written about him by a woman who deserves so much more! And when she needs to celebrate another goddamn award who does she invite for support? Not the guy who willingly sat with her every night in its drafting stage, but the very same guy that admitted he wanted  _ nothing _ to do with her!”

(Name) frowned, slowly reaching out with her free hand to pull away the glass Bo unintentionally relinquished.

De-escalation.

That’s what she needed to do now. She had gotten enough information, now she needed to make sure the man didn’t fly too far off the rails with his emotion, not when they had only just reached nickname basis that same evening.

“Is there a possibility it’s just coincidence? Or just a case of overthinking gone wild in a time of rapid change and stress?” Rationality was always a good thing, it often provided her with room to breathe, so it had to work for other people too by that assumption.

“I wanna say it is, but this doesn’t feel like it… Cause there are photos of them leaving this party together… And she’s looking at him the same way she used to look at  _ me _ .”

The owner frowned. She knew that tone – defeat mixed with equal parts bitterness and disillusionment. “You can’t always trust what the media says.”

“I know,” he groaned, “but it’s different when you’re an everyday person looking in. I  _ know _ the people being gossiped about, I  _ know _ the people who know what is true and what isn’t true. The feedback loop I get is so stupid and confusing and  _ that _ ’s what’s annoying about it! Because our mutual friends will tell me one thing that makes sense, but doesn’t  _ feel right _ when compared to what I’m being fed! And then the general public  _ agrees _ with my insecurities and that just hurts even more because,  _ fuck _ , was I always going to be a lost cause with her?”

“Who’s the mysterious third person?”

“Her editor.” Bo slumped further down forward. “He’s a good dude – one of the only people she’ll actively trust with her writing… With most of her life actually. He helped me a lot this year… And he would’ve been one of the first people to know if those dating rumours were true. Fuck he even knows the other guy, so it would’ve been  _ obvious _ to him as well! He was at that party with both of them! He said they didn’t leave at the same time, Oikawa left first cause  _ he _ wasn’t the award-winning novelist!”

Though she didn’t speak those words, (Name) could feel the burn of sarcastic poison that laced each syllable.

“I know, I know,” he waved his left hand in the air while his forehead shifted to lay flat against his palm, “I should be getting over it all, but-”

“How can you when everything you’re around is a direct reminder of everything you’ve been dealing with? When you can’t help but unconsciously look for answers in what’s being forced into your vision?” (Name) nodded. “It’s tough, I get it. But you can’t keep yourself rolling around in self-pity forever, even if this Writer Chick really was the one for you.”

“Thanks for the heads up Captain Obvious, but if it was that easy then I wouldn’t be here right now.” He deadpanned. She ignored it.

“All I’m saying is, shit happens. It’s bound to happen – that’s life. Anything is possible, and if life has taught me anything in recent years, it’s that you’ve got to start expecting it.” (Name) stowed both drinks under the counter and rested her elbows against the bench. “Sure, it gives me such anxiety and makes me want to violently throw up my insides, but that’s adulthood buddy. Sorry  _ I _ had to be the one to warn you.”

He looked at her, forlorn, but with appreciation just barely gracing the corners of his expression.

“I appreciate the heads up, especially since it's coming from the millennial Friendly Neighbourhood Bartender, but with that logic and attitude I can  _ only  _ think of everything bad that can happen. Ever. Because if they have even the  _ slightest _ chance of happening then there is no chance I can be happy…” Bo shook his head. “I’m pretty bad at math too, but m’sure that’s what Probability is all about.”

“Perhaps.” She nodded. “But like you said, I’m just the discount excuse of a bartender. What do I know?”

There was a part of her that should have been offended by the dismissal, but the blatant rejection of the kindness she was offering, but she wasn’t off-put in the slightest. If anything, she was amused, because at least  _ this guy _ understood that even she was pulling shit out of her ass; almost as if he  _ knew _ that she didn’t really believe her own words. “Now if you’re done, Mister Bokuto Koutarou sir, I need you to leave. I’ve been ditched by my employees and need to close so I can open on time tomorrow morning.”

The man huffed out a breath and nodded, shakily standing on his feet as the bar stool scraped against the floors. “Yeah, sorry… I didn’t mean to impose, or to take up more time complaining, or ignore-”

“But you feel better right? Even if it’s a little?”

“Yeah… a little.”

“Then that’s all the matters. I can sacrifice an extra hour so that my customer stays vaguely happy. Or is willing to return for our fantastic service.”

“I’m mainly here for the food.”

“I’ll let Orisaka and Minamoto know.”

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked over his shoulder as he teetered backwards towards the front entrance.

“That all depends,” she tilted her head, “are you going to keep leaving change when you don’t need to?”

Bo lifted his shoulders and waved his free hand. “Can’t promise you anything. That only leads to shitty endings for a guy like me.”

(Name) rapped her hands against the bar. “Have a good night buddy, take it easy.”

He nodded, tight lipped smile on his face. “You too.”

And then he was gone, closing the door behind him as softly as he could. His silhouette disappeared around the curve of the alley back towards the main thoroughfare.

As soon as he was gone, (Name) resumed the end of day procedure, taking the bank out of the register and locking the rest of the restaurant up. All the while, her mind lingered on why Mr Bokuto Koutarou seemed all too familiar, beyond being the bane of her financial existence.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo was waiting for him when he got home, just a little after the night had transitioned into what Proper Functioning Adults considered very late.

His friend was perched on the couch, sprawled lazily across the furniture in what Bokuto only assumed was what he wore to class that day while the sterile light from the television washed over him.

As his footsteps registered in the other man’s mind, Kuroo bolted upright, eyes wide and tired.

“You’re home.”

The surprise and concern in Kuroo’s statement was something he had been dreading and anticipating since leaving the apartment without a trace the evening before. After Akaashi’s confrontation concerning the writer and their problems, as well the tabloid article that played on the TV in the middle of it, Bokuto had fled.

To the writer’s apartment.

But she wasn’t there, so he spent the evening with her editor Hanamaki before retreating to his childhood home. His mother had been surprised and concerned, and it was in that very late secondary dinner that he confessed he  _ really _ hadn’t been doing so good.

(“Oh, darling, I knew that.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead after pulling away from their embrace, hands rubbing his shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “But it’s good you’re home. You can forget all your troubles here. And you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to.”)

And then he left his mother’s home without a word the next morning and continued to walk around aimlessly, trying to clear his head before his body had lead him back to dumb Shimbashi.

“Yeah, well, I had things to think over.” He answered, averting his gaze to his sock clad feet.

“A head’s up would’ve been nice.” Kuroo commented. “You gave me and ‘Kaashi-kun a scare.”

“I shoulda let you know what I was doing.” He resigned. “I just needed-”

“Time.” Kuroo finishes, with what could only be described as an understanding nod. “But can you blame me and Akaashi wanting to look out for you? She’s not good for you… Just the thought of being near her and trying to win her back doesn’t elicit a good reaction from you -hell, you literally  _ ran _ the moment you found out about the Oikawa rumour like a mad-man.”

“I’m sorry. I’m working on it. I swear.”

He wasn’t. At least, it didn’t  _ feel _ like it – especially after the conversation with the izakaya owner. Whether or not Kuroo truly believed the apology and lie, Bo couldn’t tell. So he kept face, because how else do you trick a guy as smart as Kuroo Tetsurou?

“Just talk to Akaashi so he knows your safe. The dude felt bad enough that  _ he _ had to be the one to tell you about our plan to stop you and her from talking, let alone losing you for almost two days.”

Bokuto nodded and twisted his fists into the hemline of his shirt.

“M’sorry man, really.”

“It’s late, bro.” Kuroo interjected, clicking the TV off and plunging most of the room into darkness. The lights were dimmed in the hallway, a pre-emptive decision on the blocker’s part in anticipation for Bokuto’s return. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got training for Ryuujin, and God knows that you’ll be called out by Nagakaichi if you have anything less than six hours sleep.”

With a slight grunt, Kuroo stood and stretched his lithe limbs, face contorting from the pull and strain of his muscles.

Bo nodded and left first, mumbling his own “Good night” and “Thanks” before he trailed down the hall and locked himself in his room for the remainder of the night.

The next morning he woke up with the faint buzz of a hangover, and the faint craving for yakitori from the izakaya in Shimbashi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haa! delayed, but that's because I was on holiday in Japan for a little over two weeks. im updating this right before a fly out so i'm leaving this note a little shorter than normal. feel free to head over to my twitter to talk to me tho, because that's where you get updates on my life and updating.
> 
> comments, kudos, and bookmarks keep me going. and I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season and have a very happy new year!


	5. On Mind and Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't trouble yourself with matters you truly cannot change.

_ November, 2018 _

If (Name) were to be completely honest with herself, she hadn’t anticipated Bokuto Koutarou coming back after their little chat.

Reflection of the event lead her to believe that maybe she was a bit too harsh on him, or a bit too careless with the advice she attempted to give him. He seemed like a smart man – capable at the very least – and so she convinced herself that same evening that that would be the last time she ever saw him.

Lo and behold, midday the following day came around and revealed the same sad customer lingering in the doorway, waiting for a seat at the bar to open up.

The owner took to serving him, sending him a polite smile every time she entered his range of vision, and received a tight lipped one back from the customer. As with the first time he had entered and ate, no one else took much notice of him.

(Bar Keijo – who cornered his employer in the back room to tell her that “ _He’s_ the guy who left that really big tip-”)

He didn’t say much, nor did he try to initiate conversation with her, or anyone else in the establishment. Instead he kept his gaze down to his food and drink, the same as he had done in every other visit to the restaurant.

And then he stayed, just waited around long enough to be one of the last few patrons within the building. Whenever (Name) looked towards him, he would already be looking back at her, face contorted with hesitation for a moment before he would look away, defeated, before he would resign himself to finishing up for the night.

He paid in exact change – nothing more, nothing less – and then he was gone without ever saying a word. As if the conversation never happened.

The pattern continued for weeks, with an average of two visits per week made by the man. 

And soon he wasn’t just the Strange Man who left a lofty tip for the store. Instead he was Bokuto-san, the man with a simple tastes in food and a strong preference for beer than spirits.

Most of the staff had encountered him by the time November rolled around, each with different experiences and varying levels of success in conversing with him. It was difficult. He kept information about himself to the bare bones. And while (Name) attributed that to the fact he was recovering from what he made out to be the Heartbreak of the Century, was really because he was _Bokuto Koutarou – Star Spiker for Japan’s National Volleyball Team_.

That encounter had been an interesting one – filled with (Name) herding her employees to leave him alone and treat him like a _regular person_.

(In hindsight, she should have let them let loose. Now there was a lingering tension whenever the spiker was in. But no, she had to be the decent human being and not really give much attention to anything other than the business she was trying to save.)

That day, however, (Name) wasn’t working the floor as she often did. Instead she was locked inside her office on the second floor, continuing to crunch numbers and finalise the hours for the December roster.

Somewhere amidst the pile of paperwork were the final plans for the renovations which she still needed to approve, alongside the costs and total timeline of the overall project from start to finish of construction.

She was neglecting the work, there wasn’t any point in trying to deny that fact. There were admittedly more interesting things to do that analyse figures and contracts for hours on end. Contrary to hospitality stereotypes, she fairly enjoyed talking to her clientele, even if most of them continued to reminisce about the days when her parents still owned the restaurant.

(Definitely not a blow to her pride or anything like that, not at all. Just faithful customers sharing their concerns and such. Totally _not_ a critique of her managing skills. Definitely. No way.)

The clock on her desk beeped obnoxiously, stirring her from her glazed stupor and forcing her out of her thoughts. She tapped her fingers against the button, silencing the alarm.

It was late, just about closing time for the restaurant, which meant she spent almost twelve hours cooped up inside of her office. And yet it felt like she had made no progress in any aspect of business management.

The owner grumbled to herself as she dropped her forehead against the wood, letting the tepid temperature soothe her warm skin. Was this what exhaustion felt like? Or was this fatigue? Was there a difference? Or were both feelings just extensions of the “Fucking Damnit” she had been feeling for the past four years?

She shot upright once more, stretching out the kinks in her back while she exhaled a deep yawn that caught itself in the back of her diaphragm, She could crunch out another hour or two before turning in for the night. She’d need to give herself an early night anyway, since she hadn’t given herself another day off to complete the managerial tasks.

There was a knock at her door.

“Come in.” She sighed, rubbing her left temple as she winced from the strain of her eyes.

(Did she need glasses? Could she even afford prescriptions after all the personal budget cuts she enacted? She made a mental note to check what extras her healthcare covered.)

(Name) smiled as the person entered. Shinji poked his head through. The older man smiled at her as he stepped into her office, shutting the door behind him softly to give them privacy. Inoue Shinji was hired around the same time as she had been officially been entered onto the restaurant’s payroll and, as such, they found themselves closer than most of the other employees.

“Evenin’ Boss, how’s the work going?” He asked, leaning his back against the door while he crossed his arms over his front. She shrugged.

“Shitty, but that’s par for the course these days.” She answered, leaning back in her place while she reluctantly let go off the papers. “How was the day? Slow?”

“Decent. A standard Friday night, nothing we couldn’t handle. A couple of tourists, we’re lucky Keijo’s fluent.” Shin replied. “N’here I thought you only hired him for his good looks.”

“Told you he’d come in handy. Did he leave already?”

“I made him take off early, he looked ready to drop right when the kitchen made it’s final call.” The woman hummed in understanding. “But that’s not what I came up here to talk about.”

(Name) raised a brow at him.

“There’s, uh, a customer downstairs who I can’t get to leave the floor… I messaged Keijo so I wouldn’t have to disturb you, and he said that you normally handled that type of stuff, since you’re the boss and all.” Shin scratched his chin hesitantly as the request began to form in his mouth. “Do you mind-”

“Who is it?”

He paused for a second at the interjection.

“That volleyball player who’s here a couple times a week– Bokuto?”

(Name) couldn’t help but look at him in disbelief. Because he was back, _again_ , and even made himself stay until the end of the night.

In hopes to see her again?

Probably less for her, and more for the promise of free drinks.

“So… you think you could come down? I feel kinda bad… Ya never know with the celebrity types how they’re gonna act.” Shin’s eyes flashed with annoyance before the expression faded back into indignant reluctance.

“I don’t think Bokuto-san is like other celebrities, Shin,” she replied, “he seems far too grounded.”

“Yeah…” The brunet nodded numbly. “But you never know, I’ve been pretty ruined by customer service.”

She snorted out a laugh. “That’s fair.” She braced her hands on the edge of her table and pushed herself out from where she sat, bones creaking ever so slightly as she finally began to work out the stiffness that settled in her system. “You can head off, I’ll handle it.”

He blinked. “You sure? I don’t mind keeping a-”

“I’ll be fine Shin, I’m pretty much a master at giving people the Bum’s Rush.”

A beat passed, and (Name) watched as her employee’s face contorted at the confidence in her voice. And just when she thought he would continue to argue he sighed, and nodded his head in submission.

“F’you say so, but you need anything then just call, yeah? I’m literally twenty minutes away.”

“I will, I will. Now c’mon, the faster you high-tail outta here, the easier it’ll be for me to close.”

She waved her hands at him as she stepped out from behind the furniture. Shin unfolded his arms and chuckled, turning around and opening the door again. He stepped out first, holding it open for the owner as she exited the office before they both continued back down the hallway towards the staircase.

“So be real with me,” Shin piped up as they approached the staff room door, “did you get anything done today?”

The woman shrugged. “Not enough to justify twelve hours of work. I was just crunching numbers.”

“Well if you needed me to cover you for a couple more shifts then I don’t mind. The missus got a bit of a pay cut at work and we’re running a bit behind on bills.”

(Name) nodded thoughtfully. She didn’t mind cutting into her own share of the revenue if it meant she could take another few days off to plan. She could even meet with the builders she was hiring and discuss options face-to-face as opposed through email.

“How does helping out for the next week sound? Orisaka’s on prep and open with Fujikawa, so you only have to do close with Keijo and that.”

“Sounds perfect.” He grinned warmly, coming to a stop in front of the door just before the staircase. “You’re a life-saver (Name), did’ya know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she scoffed, “just don’t blame me when you’re completely dead from the late nights.” The woman waved her hand once more in silently farewell before descending the stairs, steeling her Customer Service Smile across her features as she went to address her last remaining client.

 

* * *

 

His mind registered the sound of her footsteps before he caught sight of her, and it tool everything in his body to keep his eyes downcast.

“Bokuto-san. Fancy a drink or two?”

There (Surname) was, emerging from the back room with another waiter tailing right behind her – the stand-in manager for the day, apparently. Her gaze, though bleary, was just was warm as he expected it to be, and she approached the opposite side of the bar. The waiter ducked behind him, footsteps signalling that he was on his way out for the evening.

He met her gaze with a false sense of bravado, fully aware of the lingering and scrutinising stare of the  

“If your lovely establishment will still have me.”

“S’long as you can get yourself home alright, then we’ll happily oblige.”

She turned away from him, pulling out a tall bottle of sake and two small shot glasses before turning back to him. Bokuto moved the coasters to sit between them, keeping his gaze back down on to the glasses she proceeded to fill.

In the distance, the sound of the backdoor creaked open and then slammed shut, leaving them alone.

As (Name) set the bottle down, Bokuto exhaled deeply and began.

“They went to a wedding together.”

There was a passing look of confusion that appeared on the owner’s face, but it fled as quickly as it came. Her silence prompted him onward, and the loose curl of her fingers around her own drink was relaxed, and leisurely.

“It was her best friend’s wedding. I had my suspicions, because her editor was _sure_ she was going to take me, but she took him.” He paused for a second, grabbing the glass and shot-gunning the sake in one fluid gulp.  He winced at the bitterness, voice gravelly as he continued. “It’s been denied officially this time, but then you look at those photos with the ones from the paparazzi… I feel like I’m going crazy tryna figure this whole thing out.”

She frowned, using her free hand to prop her head up as she stared at him inquisitively.

“It bothers you that badly, huh?”

“Of course! I got lied to by people I could trust-”

“Nah man, you’re angry cause you reckon it should be you with her and not him.”

He faltered.

Then frowned.

No, _glared_.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re ranting to a person who has no stakes in this. If you wanted ways to get over this then you would be talking to someone else – someone who actually knows the whole situation – but you’re talking to me, and dripping in sympathy and free drinks.” She downed her own shot with a wince and proceeded to top up both their glasses once more. “Not that I have a problem with that; you gotta do what you gotta do. But I do have a problem when people aren’t honest with themselves.”

He didn’t look up to her. He didn’t _want_ to look at her.

What fucking luck did he have that he was able to meet not one, but _two_ separate women were somehow to read him so easily? Was he really that easy to get a tell on? Or was there just a generation of people in Japan that somehow were gifted with this type of stuff?

But Bo kept his gaze down, because meeting the hard and stoic stare of the owner would force himself to accept the truth he tried so hard to hide.

He was angry at her. He was angry at him.

He was angry at the fact life couldn’t give him a _goddamn break_ in anything that he did.

Bokuto grumbled and threaded a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots before he dropped his forehead against the counter, a dull thump of bone against wood.

“I love her.” He couldn’t stop the words from passing through his lips, exhaustion tinging the saddened syllables. “I can’t help but love her. And I want the best for her. And I think I’m best for her. Because no good can come from being with a guy like that – with a guy that reminds her of all the bad in her life.”

Silence permeated around them, lingering close to their bodies as it drowned out the echoes of his confession. (Name) nodded in thought, the shadow she cast over him was a big enough give away to the action. But she stayed quiet, letting the faint drip of a leaky tap break through the tense air.

“I was sixteen when I realised I was never gonna make it to university.”

Bo froze, and slowly lifted his head to pay attention to her. He pressed his cheek against the surface, blinking slowly as he waited for her to continue. She didn’t look at him, instead chose to inspect the swirling liquid that she had poured just a few minutes ago.

“Not cause of money or anything like that, but cause life wasn’t ever gonna let me go down that path.”

Her lips pulled themselves into a forlorn smile.

“My parents had it rough – my old man especially – a lot of debt and a couple of bad health scares. So I figured they were gonna head back to the countryside when they had the chance to. And when I graduated from high school, they decided to up and leave, sticking me with ownership of this place. Didn’t help that dad’s second heart-attack happened around the same time, so it seemed like the perfect time for them to retire early. I wasn’t too pissed though, considering how good it all seemed. This place has a pretty consistent customer base, and has a pretty decent location in the middle of Metro Tokyo. Uni didn’t matter – cause this place,” she gestured around the room, “has all the stability that graduates woulda killed for.”

“But the grass is always greener – or whatever the fuck. Turns out the ‘rents were leaving this place in a pretty bad way, and the world didn’t make it any easier for me. It’s barely staying afloat, the cost of living keeps rising, and the ageing population isn’t helping the overall foot traffic. Throw in a couple of liquidised suppliers and the need for modernisation, and this turned out to be a fucking train-wreck instead of a walk in the park.”

Bokuto opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to settle on the words to say. “How’re you coping?”

“I’m not.”

Memories of the first tip he left the restaurant filtered back into his mind. He’d accidentally overheard a few of the waitstaff talking about the concerns in one of the slower hours of the working day. The money weighing his wallet down seemed to be a better fit for the business.

At least _she_ was being honest with herself.  

“But I try not to think about all that shit though… cause it’s just circumstance. I can’t blame my parents for wanting to take break they deserve, and I can’t blame the global economy for how hard it is to keep up with modern life. All I can do is keep pushing ahead with what _I_ can do – even if it kills me. Cause, I mean, the fuck’s the point in dwelling on shit that I can’t control?”

The world went quiet and cold as the spiker absorbed the words. Between the lines the message was clear – or perhaps it was clear because of what _she_ had inadvertently taught him to do.

‘She doesn’t love you, dude. She’s made her choice. You can’t change her mind. You tried. Move on.’

With sluggish movements, Bo lifted his head back up and slowly drank the lukewarm sake down his parched throat. The alcohol had begun to settle in his liver, and slowly seeped into his bloodstream as he let his thoughts wander off into nothing.

The owner was right.

He tried.

He failed.

He needed to move on.

He was lying to himself for believing he still had a chance. Everything she and Akaashi said was right; this wasn’t healthy, and even though he wanted what was best for the writer, there was no way that it would lead to a good ending for himself _alone_.

And if that’s all he could control, then shouldn’t that be his focus?

“You’re already smart without uni.” He hummed with a soft smile. The owner shrugged, letting a breathy chuckle pass through her lips.

“Everyone’s smart, you just gotta find what you’re smart at.”

A hand patted his forearm comfortingly, a warm, lingering touch that brought a shock to his system. Bo’s eyes widened momentarily, finally meeting the gaze of the owner once more. The smile she returned was different to the ones she gave the other patrons of the restaurant. It was more reminiscent of the one she gave to the youngest waiter – Keijo, or whatever his name was. Fond. Doting. Sympathetic.

“Chin up bud.” She announced. “Don’t let yourself become one of those people who destroys their entire livelihood over a girl. They aren’t worth it.”

And though he nodded in understanding at her words of encouragement, there was still a part of him that determined that the writer was worth it.

Even if it hurt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! I'm so sorry for the delay of this chapter! I've run into a bit of a block with LAOAT, just because of how intertwined it is with ATAON. There's a lot of backstory to build, both new and old, and it made the process run a little slower. But I'm back, and ~~maybe~~ better than ever, so hopefully I'll have more frequent updates out for you all.
> 
> Also, as an apology for the delay, I'll be posting a special something for you all in the next few days! If you wanna keep up with the goings-on of LAOAT, UCB, and other WIPs then follow me on twitter @waywards_ because that's where I'll be rambling about things.


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